


Distillation

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [409]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: drdone asked for: Gordon "I think I'm dying."





	

“I think I’m dying.” Gordon’s groan turned into a screech of pain as Virgil flicked open the blinds, letting sunlight fill the room.

Virgil turned, hands on his hips, and took a disapproving sniff.  “It smells like a brewery in here.”

Gordon’s head was under a pillow, but one finger came out to stick obstinately in the air.  “Point of order, it’d be distillery and not brewery.”  Gordon finally appeared, bleary-eyed, clammy-skinned and with his hair sticking out at all angles.  “Beer is full of carbs.”

Virgil had to laugh despite himself.  “Only you could be hung over and still arguing fermentation method.  Pour yourself into the shower and drink ten gallons of black coffee.”  Virgil turned and cracked the window to get the worst of the smell out.

“Why?” Gordon groaned flopping back onto his pillow.

“Scott’s due home from the Academy this morning.”

Gordon rolled onto his belly.  “Why do you think I was drinking like there was no tomorrow?  Wishes do come true, Virg.”

Virgil rubbed the bridge of his nose to stave off his own looming headache.  Gordon and Scott’s ongoing pissing contest was getting on his nerves.  “He may have changed?” he tried.

Gordon cut him off.  “He texted me yesterday, told me he hopes to find me ‘shipshape.’”  Even muffled by the pillow, Virgil could hear the air quotes clanging into place. “What’s more ship-shape than getting shitfaced.”

And Virgil ran over his own last nerve.  “Fine,” he said, picking up a bottle and dropping it into the bin by Gordon’s desk, just to see the full-body wince at the sound.  “Tell him I’ll see him on the weekend.”

That got Gordon’s attention.  “Wait, where are you going?”

Virgil glared at him from the doorway.  “Away from you two until you figure it out!”  He slammed the door just to hear Gordon shriek with pain again.

In his room, Gordon flopped back and waited for the throbbing to subside.  Virgil was his buffer from Scott, the only thing to stop them killing each other.

Gordon was hungover, exhausted, and about to be alone with his annoying eldest brother.

He stared at the ceiling, his head throbbing, his mouth tasting sour and his stomach turning somersaults.  “I’m not dying,” he realized.  “But I’m about to get killed.”


End file.
